


Black Bird

by notsocleverwriter



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No IT (King), Apocalypse, BAMF Eddie Kaspbrak, F/M, IT AU, Inventive Ben Handcom, Kind Mike Hanlon, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Quick Beverly Marsh, Reddie, Sharp Shooter Bill Denbrough, Smart Stan Uris, Stenbrough, benverly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-04-16 06:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14158794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsocleverwriter/pseuds/notsocleverwriter
Summary: Death had gripped the word, sending an epidemic to the four corners of the earth. Over eighty percent of the population perished in the first year, and they were the fortunate ones. What was left was destruction and anguish. Gangs and scavengers ran through towns, killing any survivor that stood in their way. The only thing you could trust were your instincts, and even then in a post-apocalyptic world, things were never what they seem. If you dare allow another to hold your life in their hand, you better pray that they aren’t the one driving the killing stake into your back.With the promise of safety in the southwest,Stan Uris and Richie Tozier make their treacherous journey from New England together, leaning on one another for support. They expect obstacles along the way, however that does not include a bandit, a pair of survivors with trust issues and a few others who just want to be left alone. Their expedition is not for the faint of heart and with each passing day the sun sets on their chance for a proper life.One thing becomes abundantly clear, life is a bitch.





	1. The Winding Road Ahead

**Author's Note:**

> So here this is! I should be posting one of my many other fictions but I wanted to test the waters with this chapter before I continued. I don’t know, I think once the rest of the gang gets involved it’ll get better. Meh, like I said wanted to see how it goes. Thanks for reading!!

The sun was hanging awfully low for his liking, the long stretch of road they were traveling on seemed to have no end. It had been hours since the last rest stop, even longer since the last town. His feet ached, the soles of his shoes worn down to the bone making his toes swell. The muscles in his legs twitched painfully as they were forced to expand and contract with each step. There was a little voice in the back of his mind that screamed his fear, making it hard to focus on anything else. It was a ticking clock counting down to the end of his sanity and like the months that had passed there was little hope.

“You know what I think I miss the most?” An upbeat voice jeered from beside him, his light tone making him flinch. “Like out of all the things in the world, you know what I miss the absolute most?”

“No and I don’t really care.”

Lie, he did because it was Richie’s light hearted way that kept him afloat. In the downfall of humanity he found solace in the awkward, lanky boy beside him. They had made their journey from New England together, leaving behind dead family and a lifelong home. It had been Richie’s idea, his mother being the last one to die from the sickness. The enrie town had turned tail and ran months before but not Maggie Tozier, she had been born in Derry and god damn she would die in Derry. Ofcourse she got her wish five months later, with her only son dabbing her sweaty forehead and whispering words of encouragement. It was a gut wrenching sight, the life of abuse that Richie had endured doing nothing to harden his his heart. Once her body had been burned, they were on the way out of the city limits with a backpack full of food and Richie’s fathers gun on his hip.

The food lasted fifteen days.

Stan’s hope for the salvation, twenty.

“Oh of course you do Stanley, I know you live on my every word.” He cooed, bumping his shoulder against his friends in a playful manner. “You love me.” The phrase was exaggerated and hilariously obnoxious but the trashmouth took his enjoyment nonetheless, laughing at his own voice. “You looovvveee meeee!!!”

Stan rolled his eyes, unable to keep himself from smiling at his friends loud and scratchy voice. “Richie and Stanny sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” He continued, shaking his hips with each step. “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage.”

“You know that it’s physically impossible for two males to procreate right? That’s not how it works.” He retorted, adjusting his heavy backpack along his back making a slight pinch make him cringe. “You need a female to create a child, you took sex-ed.”

Richie scoffed, skipping a few steps. “I don’t need a lady when I’ve got my best man by my side!” His first made contact with Stan’s arm, making a tingling sensation run down it. “I’d follow you anywhere babe.”

“Shut up.” Stan muttered, trying to conceal his light heart. “You are so annoying, do you know that?”

“I know, what would you do without me?”

Die. That question was simple. If Stan had been at this alone he would have offed himself on the side of the road where he had dropped to his knees beside the decaying remains of a family of four, the mother still holding her bloated and diseased newborn. The smell alone induced vomit, the sight forcing tears. It was on that twentieth day that he dug his nails into the dirt and wept for people he hadn’t even known. They represented his faith and persistence and in the nights that followed they were his nightmares. The gun on his hip never felt heavier and he wanted nothing more than to place the barrel against his temple and pull the trigger.

But there were hands on him, pulling him into a warm embrace. That night they camped half a mile away from dead bodies in a old shack. Neither of them talked about the incident, and Stan was thankful. The rain had fallen hard, their friendship stretched past the intended limit. In the darkness they held onto each other with unspoken words, becoming bonded in ways that were once unimaginable. Richie was his brother and if the time ever came, he knew he would sacrifice his life for him.

“Become sane again I can only assume.” Stan joked back, looking beside him. “You drive me absolutely crazy.”

Richie only laughed, shaking his head. “It’s fast food by the way, the one thing I think I miss most. Greasy, salty, artery clogging fast food.” He threw his head back with exasperation, making a crude motion with his hands. “I mean, do you know how many McDonalds we’ve passed?”

Stan chuckled, half amused. “I would’ve thought it would be porn honestly.”

“OH MY GOD I FORGOT ABOUT PORN!”

“How are we even friends?”

“Because I’m irresistible.” Richie cooed, pursing his lips and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose simultaneously. “And I always find us shelter.” He extended hand out, pointing just up the way to a run down truck stop. Stan subconsciously cringed at the dirty exterior, looking as if it had been abandoned just at the beginning of the sickness, graffiti and slander was painted on every exposed surface. Fuck, what he would give for a four star hotel.

As they drew closer the sky was nearly black and their day nearly dead, every fiber in Stan’s body screaming for a relief. They had stopped even less than usual today, being the long stretch on the empty road. Entering the small station they noticed that the owners had taken time to board up the windows and doors, undoubtedly in an attempt to keep looters at bay. However after a quick inspection the two found were their defences had broken. Richie went in first, lucy at the ready. It only took two minutes for the all clear and half of one for Stan to hop over the window seal.

They had yet to run into a serious threat yet. Once, just outside of New England, they were met with a group of children who wanted their rations but with one flash of Richie’s gun they scattered. Laughing it off, they continued, not realizing that real danger would follow in their nightmares. After that it was easy sailing, figurative speaking.

Before settling into their sleeping bags, Stan managed to find an empty enough can to light a fire and Richie found an extravagant meal of stale candy and canned meat. It was a big haul considering where they were and would surely have enough to last them a few days. The M&M’s that Stan dined on hurt his teeth but he knew he couldn’t complain, there had been a time where they had gone to bed hungry and woke starving. Every calorie counted, every nasty, out of dated, vomit worthy scrap was gold in today’s currency.

“So.” Richie sang from across him, eating Vienna Sausages straight from the can. “Where are we exactly?”

Stan was staring at the map, knowing that the question would come eventually. Shining his flash light onto the thin paper he muttered something under his breath that would have made his mother blush. “About a day or two’s walk from Chicago.”

“Ah, Illinois. Fuck that’s far.”

“I guess.”

“So Chicago….that would be a sight to see. One of the birthplaces of Agent Sixteen, can you imagine what ground zero looks like now?” Richie smiled, sticking his small piece of weiner over the blazing fire before shoving it down his gullet. “Also I’ve always been down for a giant bean.”

“We are not going into Chicago.”

“Why not? We haven’t went sightseeing since we started this shitty road trip.” Richie pouted, tossing his empty dinner over his shoulder without caring about where it lay. “Which by the way, has made my legs sexy as hell.”

“The big cities are a cesspool of gangs and scavengers. Going into the city limits is a death sentence and I for one like my skin attached to my body, thank you very much.”

“Dude you are such a downer.”

“I’m a realist.” Stan retorted harshly, huffing in frustration. “This isn’t some kind of video game that you start over when you die. We have to make it to California, to the sanctuary and playing smart is only the way to get there.”

There was a moment of silence, a lingering and yet loud question that rang between the both of them. It had been Stan’s idea to head out towards the Southwest, promise of safety pushing him in that general direction and Richie being Richie followed. This had been all on him, the long days, the empty roads, everything that had happened had been because he wanted to get to a place where he would feel….at home? Fuck was that even possible?

“Cali, you have to promise to take me to the beach once we get there.” Richie mused, shaking his head. “Think there’s any hot chicks left? Should I get a haircut?” His hands ran themselves through the ratsnest he called hair, his curls knotting between his fingers.

“Even with a haircut you would have no chance.” Stan jeered, chuckling. “It’s all about personality my friend, and you are annoying as hell.”

“Hey maybe the apocalypse has lessened their standards, you don’t know!”

“Nah, not there is no way Although you should definitely try, I’d enjoy a show.” Richie started laughing, his enjoyment filling the room. It was comfortable, bathing in his chuckles, almost like the danger had subsided just for that moment. It would be another few moments before it grew quiet again.

Stan stared at the fire, watching the flames dance with themselves. If he looked closely, he could make out faces, ones that they had seen along the way. Dead and alive, friendly and not. A gut wrenching emotion twisted his insides, making him want to vomit. His question dripped from his lips, taking them both by surprise. “Do you ever think about the way things were, you know before all of this.”

Richie’s eyes were on him, pity and sadness pooling in his orbs. “Sometimes, yeah I guess.” He whispered, the corners of his lips tugging downward. “I try not to though.”

“Do you think anyone from Derry actually survived?” Stan asked, flashes of his own dead parents lying in their bed where he had found them burning his brain. “I mean we were the last ones to really leave, do you think-”

“Does it matter?”

“What?”

“I mean, honestly? That town fucking hated us Stan and didn’t give two shits about us when it all went to shit. Do you think they sit around their fire and wonder if we survived?” Richie’s tone was surprisingly sharp, hatred dripping from every word. It was unlike him to get aggravated or angry but when he did, the trashmouth could transform, his eyes becoming dark and his voice demanding. “Fuck Gretta Keene who wrote FAGGOT on your locker freshmen year. Fuck the senior class, who only seemed to get their kicks from jumping my ass. Fuck everyone who looked down on us, who looked the other way when things got hard. Derry was never home to me and I say good riddance, I hope the place, and the people, rot.”

A shiver ran down Stan’s spine, settling at the base of his hip. He dropped his gaze back to the fire, unable hold Richie’s firm stare any longer. It was quiet after that, the only noise being the crackling of the flame. In retrospect, Richie was right. Derry Maine hated the two losers more than anyone. Growing up was hard, being the son of the town Rabbi was harder. Although he had never officially came out as homosexual, the town knew and responded with hatred and vulgarity. Richie could have gotten off easier if he wasn’t friends with the school queer but he chose to stay by his friends side, sealing his fate. Richie had always said leaving was the best thing to happen to him, even if it came with an apocalypse.

“I guess you’re right.” Stan whispered after awhile, unable to leave the conversation where it had landed. “I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“We have each other.” Richie said, his words much softer. “And that’s all that matters.”

“Agreed.”

Nothing else was said the rest of the night, sleep coming quickly and taking hold of the both of them forcefully. Stan dreamt of dead children and crying mothers, of his own father’s body laying in his marriage bed, swollen and green from the virus. He fought against the nightmares but still they came, ravaging his mind and creating a void where his heart should lay. The CDC’s warning relaying itself in the back of his mind, feeding the public false hope like a forced meal. His body tossed and turned in the sleeping bag, whimpers and whines vibrating in his chest. It was painful to watch, and if Riche wasn’t so exhausted he would have been kept up by his friends restless sleep.

Some nights were easy, and others were difficult.

Tonight would prove to be one of the most difficult yet.

\---------

“STAN!”

The curly haired boy bolted upward, sleep shedding off of his skin in an instant. His eyes refused to adjust to the dim lighting that the dying fire provided, two black forms moving on the other side of him. There was a grunt, a curse followed by his name yet again. Scrambling to his feet he slipped on his sleeping bag, hitting his chin on the floorboards. Pain shot through his lips, his teeth biting down on the tender flesh. “Fuck!”

“He’s robbing us, Stan it’s a thief!” Richie yelled, his body rushing off the floor and bolting towards the all black body. His fingers grazed the dark jacket, his hold missing it’s target by a fraction of a second. “Fuck, he has our gear bag!”

The bandit ran swiftly towards the exit, jumping through the open window in one fluid motion. Stan managed to get all the way out of his bag, following Richie as they chased after the intruder. The night sky was littered with stars, the nearly full moon frowning down at the scene below. It was rather cold, the wind biting at their faces as they ran.

“Hey! Stop!” Richie screamed, his breathing labored. “That’s our stuff!”

Of course, the bandit ignored his pleas as they kept a steady pace. Stan’s feet dug into the asphalt, his legs carrying him as fast as he could. Lucky for them, he was faster than he seemed, gaining on the thief inch by inch. Without even thinking he reached out, grabbing hold of the hoodie in a desperate attempt to stop them. The dark dressed person let out a half scream, the hood falling down to reveal a long braid of fire.

Stan was taken by surprise, trembling slightly at the sight of the grey eyes that shot back at him. With a curse he dropped his hold, allowing the girl to bolt to the left and head through the tree line. Richie was quick to follow, Stan having to double back to make the turn.

In the wooded area, it was quickly obvious that the bandit had the advantage as she jumped over brush and slid through the trees easily. Richie and Stan began to steadily fall back, watching the red hair fade into the darkness. They tried to keep up, but the longer they ran, the further they drew away from the truck stop and before either of them could realize what was happening they were slowing down nearly a mile away from the road.

The girl was gone and so was nearly every item they owned.

“Fuck!” Richie hollered, huffing out his labored breaths and interlocking his fingers behind his head. His glasses were sliding down his sweaty face, the curls on his head sticking to his forehead. “Fucking bitch!”

Stan couldn’t reply or agree as he leaned against a nearby tree, his words escaping him with each huff and puff. Looking around he tried to gain some kind of bearing but finding that he had no idea where they would or what direction they had ran. They were lost, and if that wasn’t bad enough, all of their maps had been in the gear pack.

“Do you know which way is the road?” Richie whispered after a few moments had passed.

“No.”

“Me either.”

“Awesome.” He moaned, running his fingers nervously though his hair. Richie didn’t say anything, both of them knowing that they were fucking screwed. The moon shined down with an almost non existent light, making their surroundings that much more terrifying. A sinking feeling settled in Stan’s gut, making him want to vomit. After all that planning, all the careful and cautious trails they had taken they still ended up shit creek without a paddle. They were going to die out here, he just knew it.

“Well at least this can’t get any worse.” Richie chuckled out, earning a stern eye from his friend. “I mean come on, there is no possible way this night could get-”

“Well look at what we have here!” A low and intimidating voice cooed from behind, sending alarming sparks down both of the boy’s spines. Turning slowly they met three boys, their eyes wild and their smiles sharp. Stan wanted to scream at Richie, to tell him how absolutely stupid he was but his throat closed up the moment the blonde boy stepped forward, his voice like nails on a chalkboard.

“I think we found us some fun.”


	2. Never Split, Never Run

“Faster, Stan you have to run faster.” 

His breath was like fire burning his lungs, passing his chapped lips and creating puffs of smoke into the air. The grip he had on his friends shoulder was falter, their pace not quite fast enough to shake the danger that nipped at their heels. Every step screamed urgency, his toes pressing painfully against the tip of his steel toed boots. Stan whimpered and panted, trying his best to keep up with Richie’s long legs but it as no use. Those boys would be on top of them in seconds and he had to quickly decide which was worse, being killed or watching his best friend be killed. 

Ofcourse, he chose the latter. 

Without really thinking about it he slowed, digging his feet into the moist grass until he was almost walking. Stan gaped at him, silently begging him to keep going but he merely shook his head. “Go!” He shouted in his friends face, pushing him forward as he lingered back. “Run Stan, find somewhere to hide!” 

“Richie, I-I can’t!” Stan sputtered, the heavy footsteps growing closer and closer. His eyes were wide, staring right back at his best friend with fear dancing in the deep pool. “We have to keep going, come on!”

“No, I’ll keep them off. Find your way back to the road and keep moving until morning. You have to keep moving, do you understand?” How he had become so suicidal was beyond him. In highschool it would’ve been a cold day in hell when he even gave up a fry from his plate and now he was willing to fight off three boys just to keep from watching the slaughter of his only friend? Things were assbackwards in this time and day, and yet a sense of pride was growing deep in Richie’s belly, telling him that for once, he was doing good. “Stay alive Stan. Just stay alive.” 

“No!” He pleaded, tears filling the brim of his lid. “No, please Rich. Please keep running. I can’t do this without you!” 

Richie opened his mouth to dispute, to snap back with the fact that Stan had been the one dragging him though all of this, not the other way around but it seemed that the universe had other ideas. With one final, aggressive shove he watched his friends tear stained face disappear into the tree line, one more goodbye dying at the tip of his tongue. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips when the voices echoed in his ears, the vulgar language almost making him laugh. He turned and face them, knowing full well that one against three never ended well and it wasn’t like he knew how to fight anyways...so he was fucked.

“Gentlemen!” Richie boomed, half bowing in their presence and wincing as they advanced. “It’s about fucking time! Had one too many doughnuts before the race? I mean I think a fucking pig could run faster than the three of you! The apocalypse did not do you any good if you are running around and eating the entire grocery store! Fuck you guys are-”  
The punch to his gut forced the air from his lungs and he hit the ground hard. Sticks and stones dug into the flesh of his knees, making him wince. He looked up to the menacing glare of the tallest boy, his black eyes glaring down at him with the devils gaze. “Oh I’m going to enjoy killing you.” He snarled, bearing his too white teeth. “Gonna slit your throat like the animal you are. Probably cream my pants doing it.” 

“Thats-” He coughed, clutching his spasming gut, “disgusting. Use a sock like the rest of us you psychopath.” His head was ripped back, long and greedy fingers biting into his locks making his head buzz. The glasses he wore slid down to the tip of his nose, making the world blur. A coolness pressed against his throat that could only come from a hunter's blade, and he swallowed the lump in his throat and ate the joke that came to mind. The boy’s breath tickled his earlobe, making him want to vomit. 

“I like this, seeing the joy fade from you. I’ll bathe in your blood you fucking swine.” 

“Patrick, that’s enough.” A sharp and stern voice cut, haulthing the sinister kids motions. “You know Henry will want to see him before he dies. We are still looking for that freak and he may have seen something.” 

“This kid hasn't seen shit!” Patrick retorted, lowering the blade and allowing Richie to breath again. “Bowers doesn't need to know we found him or his little friend, all he cares about is that asshat with his gun.” Richie silently thanked that said asshat right about now. “He is mine Victor, it’s been three days since my last kill! I NEED THIS!” 

“And you will get it.” The blond haired boy snapped back, squaring up his shoulders. “After Henry talks to him.” 

“God, I’ll suck Henry’s dick if it means this mongrels hands are out of my hair.” Richie jeered, feeling a ripping on his scalp. “This guy really likes the kinky shit huh?” Patrick let go of his head, allowing it to fall against his chest. The trashmouth immediately fixed his glasses and rubbed his scalp simultaneously. “Fucking christ on a cracker that hurt.” 

“You don’t know pain yet.” The dark boy spat down onto him, “But I will show you. I promise you that.” Richie’s stomach sank onto the forest floor, his chest tightening at the sight of Patricks curling smile. Fear bubbled under his skin, making it crawl. Before he could crack a joke to make himself feel better, two other sets of hands were on him, pulling him to his feet. 

Yup, he was fucked. 

\----------------

“Oh god.” 

Breathing was almost impossible, his legs gave up the fight, forcing him into a walk. Tears made it hard to see, his feet caring him deeper into the wooded area. He had no idea where he was going, no clue as to which way was the road and which way was to Richie. All around him trees talked, whispering his fears and insecurities back to him. He had left his only friend to die, to be dismembered by some unknown threat. Why did he run? Why did he listen to that trashmouth? There was no way he could survive on his own! Oh god, he was going to die here wasn’t he? Death seemed sweeter than the fear that had consumed him. 

Birds cawed from above him, making Stan’s gaze shoot upward. There sat a black crow, perched perfectly on a branch, it’s dead eyes staring right at him. It ruffled its feathers, tilting his head to the side and cawed again. The violent noise made him jump, his body trembling from the sight. 

The black bird of death. 

He was going to die a coward. 

“Richie….” He whispered up to the bird, watching it as it blinked. “I’m so sorry.” The animal cawed once more before taking flight, passing overhead and rising up towards the night sky. It was a somber sight, and if it was his last than so be it. The universe had decided, and there was no going back. Not when he had left Maine, not when he shot his first round and definitely not now. Life sucked like that. 

“Hey, wh-what are you doing out here?” 

Stan jumped, scrambling to turn around. He was met with wide eyes and a soft face, the lanky boy being close to his age with a rifle slung over his right shoulder. His clothes hung loosely from his small frame, dried blood caked onto his left cheek as a healing wound hid behind it all. Instinctively he backed up, puting as much space between himself and the one with the gun. “I don’t want trouble okay?” Stan bluted, holding his hands up in defense. “I’m not armed, I swear. Please don’t -”

“I’m n-not going to hurt you but there are p-people out here that will. It’s n-not safe here. You need to g-go.” He stuttered out, shaking his head and pointing past him. “These people w-won’t hesitate to k-kill you on the s-spot, these boys are m-monsters-”

“I know.” Stan breathed, still keep a safe distance from the stranger. “They have my friend, he-he stayed behind so I could get away.” 

The other boy’s face fell, his lips tugging downward into a knowing frown. “Than he is in g-grave danger.” He whispered, biting his bottom lip he nodded. “T-they have my friend too. We can get them back if w-we work together.” 

“Why should I trust you?” Stan snapped, keeping his voice flat and emotionless. 

“B-because I’m your b-best bet.” 

\------------

The hand that slapped across his face stung, leaving a harsh mark on his cheek. Richie could taste copper pooling on his tongue but he swallowed it down, not wanting to give them the satisfaction. They were yelling at one another, bickering and hissing crude things back and forth. If his ears were not ringing, Richie would put his input in the matter even though his smart mouth was the reason why it was currently bleeding. His gaze lifted to their so called leader, his wild eyes staring back at him with such intensity he wasn’t sure weather to be afraid or flattered by the attention. 

“Where is the sharp shooter?” Henry hissed, kneeling down to where Richie sat. “Tell me and I’ll kill you myself rather than letting Patrick have his fun with you.” 

Richie laughed, it’s hollow rumble in his chest hurt his ribs. “Why would I tell you anything? I like a little light petting before hand anyways.” Truthfully, he had no idea what these crazy people were talking about. Two minutes into their interrogation and he realized that they weren’t referring to Stan, that there was someone else out there that they were tracking before stumbling onto the them. Whoever it was, he must be a grave threat because he had the four of them scared shitless. “Just give me a reach around yeah? Be kind and give a little.” 

Pain came from his skull as a fist made contact with his temple, shoving him to the ground. The world spinned, making the vomit come from the pit of his stomach. It came up all over his captors shoes, making the boy cry out in anger which only made Richie chuckle in amusement. So much for a gourmet meal of stale pretzels. “We are wasting time on him! Put him with the other one.” 

“Oh you got me a friend? How sweet!” Richie taunted, unable to keep the joke behind his teeth. “Is he as adorable as the four of you.” His hands were ripped backwards and together, a rope burning as it rubbed against the tender flesh. There was a whimper that slipped past him when they tightened it so tight that his fingers instantly lost feeling. Strong and gross hands were on him again, forcing him to his feet. He followed, only because his head was throbbing painfully and he couldn’t take the light from the fire any longer. 

It only took a few steps for them to get to where they were going, stepping right up to a smallish heap on the forest floor. The moment they stopped the body lifted, revealing the brightest, most brilliant doe eyes Richie had ever seen. His face was covered in blood and mud but the soft features were persistent, standing out even through the filth. He looked harmless, and so fucking tiny that Richie wanted to cry. The boy’s eyebrow raised, his gaze raking over Richie. “Who is this?” He asked, his voice like bells in Richie’s ears. 

Their captors only grunted, pushing Richie to the ground beside the other beaton piece of meat. As they turned to leave the boy started to chuckle, the light and happy tune echoing throughout the empty trees. “You haven't found him yet have you? You can’t, no matter how hard you try.” He was laughing like a mad man now, the corners of his lips curling into a cheshire grin. “You’ll never find him, he’s in his element. You are as good as dead.” 

“Shut the fuck up or you’ll be as good as dead!” Victor snapped, his tone strong but his eyes were weak and terrified. “We are keeping you alive as bait, but it’ll work just as well with your throat slit.” 

“Then do it.” The boy sneered, the laughter cutting off in his throat as he leaned forward in a taunting motion. “But you know the moment you do, he will slaughter you all in your sleep. He’s a ghost, you will never see it coming. You may have caught the rabbit, but the fox will come.” 

Richie watched in awe as Victor leaned forward and smacked the small boy so hard that he fell backwards in to his lap, the light weight making him fight against his restraints. “Hey, don’t fucking touch him!” The trashmouth defended, unsure where the protectiveness that he felt was coming from. His chest burned with it, a primal need to keep the boy safe flooded his entire body. “I’ll kill you, I swear! I’ll fucking kill you.” 

“Get in line.” Victor growled, turning heel and heading where he came, the fatter one following close behind. They left the two and after a few seconds the smaller boy slid from Richie’s lap, moving to his knees in the process. 

“You okay?” Richie asked, turning to face his new acquaintance. “He hit you pretty hard and-what the fuck are you doing.” He watched with wide eyes as the small kid opened the pocket knife Richie typically kept in his pocket, sawing through the thick rope that bound his wrists. His face was twisted in concentration, his body shimming with the movement that came from his shoulders. “How in the hell did you-”

“You play a great dumbass, you know that?” He said, slicing through the remainder of his restraints with ease. “Unless you really are a dumbass than I thank you for the knife.” 

As he rose Richie felt a sense of panic, scooting his ass closer to the short boy. “Hey! You have to cut me loose too! You can’t just leave me here!” 

This made the other kid scoff, his head shaking in what could only be disbelief. “I don’t even know you.” 

“OH FUCK YOU! YOU LITTLE ASS-”

“Shut up!” The boy whispered loudly, looking back to where the flame thrived. “Keep your voice down or this won’t work!” 

“What won’t work?” Richie spat back, eyeing the boy with skepticism. “What are you going to-” A loud gunshot rang out, causing multiple birds to take flight. The silence that followed was deafening, like the calm right before a storm. Richie was both terrified and exhilarated, the feelings melting into one another in his veins.

The short boy smiled brightly, “He’s here.” He breathed, winking down at Richie before disappearing in the brush, his footsteps nearly silent. The trashmouth watched in amazement, slightly aroused by the sight. What a great ass. Welp, if he died now he would die happy he supposed. 

A few moments later Victor appeared, his voice sharp and demanding towards the others but it went unnoticed as they scattered, looking for the source of the gunfire. “Where is he!” He shouted, “Where did that fucking bastard go!” 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about my good sir.” Richie replied in a horrible british accent, looking around he faked a surprised gasp. “Oh my, look at that! I do believe that small boy has disappeared! Quite shocking!” 

“I’m going to kill you!” Victor growled, grabbing the front of Richie’s shirt and pulling him to his feet. The smell that leaked from his mouth made the trashmouth want to vomit again, “You pathetic no good piece of-” He stopped mid sentence. His mouth formed a giant oval, a barely audible gurgle coming from the back of his throat. Richie’s eyes widened as a small stream of blood trickled from Patricks left nostril, his grip loosening. Then he swayed, first to one side than to the other as if unsure which way to fall. Finally he crumbled, creating a giant mess on the muddy floor. 

Richie couldn’t look away from his pocket knife that protrude from the back of the blond haired boy’s neck, the long blade embedded through the spine and into the throat. He wanted to scream, but it was stifled by a warm hand covering his lips. Looking up he found two doe eyes staring back at him, apologizing for what he had just saw and pleading for his silence. Richie nodded, understanding the need and urgency, leaning back he allowing the hand to fall. 

“Who are you?”

“Eddie Kasbrak.” The boy answered quietly. “Now hurry up, there are three more to go.” 

\--------------

The gunfire rang in his ears, the echo spreading far and wide through the trees. Stan watched in horror, staring at the boy who called himself Bill. They were nestled between two branches high off the forest floor, sitting shoulder to shoulder. Bill didn’t even flinch from the force of his rifle, keeping it snug against his shoulder. Stan wanted to scream with frustration, knowing that that one round gave away the position that had taken them over an hour to get to. “Why the fuck did you do that?” He whispered harshly, watching movement that began at the campfire. “You didn’t even hit anything!” 

“It’s a s-signal to Eddie. To let him k-know I’m here.” 

“Did you have to let everyone in a three mile radius know too?” 

“Don’t w-worry, they won’t be able to pinpoint our d-d-direction. They’ll scatter and then w-we can go- down there and get our f-friends.” Bill replied calmly, ignoring Stan’s harsh tone. “Have you ever k-killed anyone before?” 

“What? No!” Stan spat, the question slipping down his skin, dragging it’s nails along the way. “And I don’t want to!” 

“Hmm.” Bill frowned, dropping his gaze and turning back to the camp. An awkward silence stretched between them, the obvious question tipping the balance between them. Stan waited for him to reply, to say anything to indicate that he himself had never taken a life. 

It never came, and against all his own sense of judgment he asked, “Have you?”

“I th-think we both know the a-answer to that.” He answered emotionlessly. Stan’s blood ran cold, the air shifted slightly making it that much uncomfortable. Something needed to be said, and it needed to be said now. The thing was, Stan didn’t know what that thing was. He was never good with these types of things and sitting next to a murder only made it that much worse. In retrospect, he should be scared and yet it wasn’t fear that flooded his senses, it was pity. “We need to move now, they left.” 

Stan only nodded, following suite and hopping from the tree with a little difficulty. He landed awkward and fell forward, digging his hands into the dirt in order to catch himself. There was a curse and a very dirty phrase and it took two seconds for him to feel the hand that was pulling him back to his feet. He looked up to Bill with thankful eyes but the boy said nothing, only nodding towards their destination. 

They moved with caution, making as little sound as possible. Bill kept his rifle raised, Stan keeping on hand in the borrowed nine millimeter attached to his hip. Each step was like lead, making Stan’s heart race. He stayed close to Bill, praying that his choice in trust would not fail him. There was a heap before them and everything went fuzzy. It was a dead body, that much was certain. Everything in his being told him it was Richie, no matter how absurd it was. 

It was Richie and he had killed him. 

Bill lightly kicked the bodies shoulder, rolling from its side to it’s back. “It’s Cr-Criss. One of those th-thugs.” He said coldly, bending down to inspect closer. “Huh, there’s the culprate.” The boy was moved to his stomach, his eyes now staring directly at stanly, forever fixated on something unseen. Stan swallowed, his gaze moving from the boy’s face to his back where a pale blue knife protruded from his neck. 

“That’s Richie’s. I’d know it anywhere, he keeps it on him at all times.” A thought crossed his mind, “Oh man, do you think he-”

“No.” Bill answered the unvoiced question. “The knife s-severed his sp-spinal cord, a quick and painless d-death. It was done on p-purpose, to keep him quiet. Un-unless your Richie has extensive know-owledge of human anatomy, than th-this was definitely Eddie.” 

“Eddie? Your friend did this?” 

“Yes, and if h-he did this, than he t-took Richie with him.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“Because I know h-how Eddie works.”


	3. Watch Your Back Kid

“Oh my god, can you be any louder?” 

“Yes, I could thank you very much!” 

Eddie kept his hands on his knees, digging his nails into his jeans in a desperate attempt not to slap the boy next to him. They had only made it a quarter of a quarter of a mile and yet the lanky child had managed to step on every fallen branch, kick every leaf and grunt out curses like a sailor becoming a beacon to their location. How he managed to get the short end of the stick, Eddie never knew. “Just please try to keep it down, we don’t know where Henry or the rest of them are. Last thing we need to to be ambushed.” 

“Just pull some of that kung foo that you did back there and we should be fine.” Richie-what a stupid name Eddie thought-said, smiling over to where he sat. “You gotta teach me some of that Eds, seriously.” 

“Okay, first off, do not call me that.” He hissed, keeping low to the ground. “Secondly, it’s not kung foo, it’s basic knowledge of human anatomy and shut the fuck up! We are trying to get the jump on them, not the other way around” 

“If you want me to shut just me up than just kiss me baby.” 

“Oh my god, I think I’m going to throw up.” Eddie groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Although his heart fluttered shamefully, his brain screamed warnings, telling him all the things he already knew. One, he was in serious danger, Bill was still MIA and he had left his weapon in the back of Victor’s neck. Two, he now had to watch his back and front. He didn’t know this Richie, for all he knew he was a sweet face with razor teeth, ready to rip out his throat. Three, Victor’s body would have been found by now and that meant he was numero uno on Henry’s kill list.

“Hey, how did you end up with those guys anyways?” Richie asked, following closely as Eddie moved to the next brush. “An orogy gone wrong?” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, “No, they’ve been tailing us since Indiana. Hunting us actually.”

“Hunting? What they have a vendetta out for you or something?” 

“Or something.” He replied, shaking his head. In truth, it had been before Indiana. Maybe even while they were still in New York. Eddie couldn’t remember a day that he hadn’t spent hiding their tracks, covering any evidence that they were alive in hopes to shake the Bowers Gang. It wasn’t like Henry to give up a target, especially when he had thought they had double crossed him in some way. That guy was certifiably insane, and persistent as shit. It had all been Eddie’s fault, he had been on nightwatch when they had been overtaken and deserved the torture that had come over the next several days. 

That was until the idiot with the pocket knife showed up. 

It had been so easy, like taking candy for a baby. The plan was to get loose and run but as Victor grabbed Richie, instinct took hold and now here he was babysitting. Fuck, this was why he dealt with his own and no one else. It was easier. Safer. And all Eddie ever wanted to be was safe. 

“Okay, so what now? How do we find those idiots when we have no idea-”

“Goddamn it I can’t believe we lost them!” A crude, harsh voice hissed, making both Eddie and Richie drop to the ground in an instant. Their footsteps were loud and aggressive, trudging through the leaves like a barreling train. It was Belch and Patrick, the gross one and the psyco of course. “Keep looking, if we don’t find them than Henry will flip some serious shit.” 

“I know man. Trust me, I know..” 

Eddie looked over to the boy beside him and pressed his finger to his lips, signaling silence. They were unarmed, which meant it was better to stay out of sight and let them pass until they found their friends again. Richie nodded-biting his bottom lip to keep what Eddie could only assume was a joke from spilling. Patrick stopped just in front of them, leaving only a thinning bush for protection. They were arguing loudly, snarling at one another without the faintest idea that their prey was kneeling a few feet away.

Eddie motioned for Richie to move backwards in retreat but of course he couldn’t do it quietly, stepping immediately on the only broken branch in a five foot radius. Eddie froze, sending a very dirty look in the boy’s direction. A second skipped by before the barrel of Patrick's twelve gauge moved through the branches, pressing directly on Eddie’s temple. “Look who we have here, long time no see rabbit.” 

“I hate you.” Eddie growled, looking directly at Richie. “I can not express in words how much I hate you right now.” Richie looked sympathetic, frowning in his direction but that wasn’t enough to make up for his stupidity 

“Up.” Patrick demanded, “Get the fuck up now.” 

They obeyed, slowly getting to their feet and taking a sizable step backwards. “Don’t do anything rash there Patrick, you wouldn’t want to upset Henry.” Eddie cooed, holding up both of his hands in defense. “You know he’s branded me and Bill as his and if you kill-”

“Henry isn’t here right now is he?” He snapped, stepping forward. Eddie’s stomach clenched, the darkness in Patrick’s eyes only growing as he continued his advancement. “We’ve been following your asses for months and for what? So he could take revenge on something he made up in his head? What a waste! I’m going to end this now, blow your brains all over this forest and move the fuck on!” The gun was in Eddie’s face, aiming right between his eyes. “You die now rabbit, and your meat will make good stew.” 

There were regrets, Eddie figured, sure weren’t there always. Maybe it was the fact that he had allowed his mother to control him for the first sixteen years of his life, or maybe when he had gotten caught in his bedroom, on his knees with the boy from his calculus class. Or perhaps it was staying one night with these band of psychos even though Bill had fought against it. But where there regrets, there were moments he was applauded for, like becoming emancipated at seventeen, attending medical school, or making good with the boy who would become his brother in arms. Whatever he regretted, or didn’t, faded into memory as the trigger was pulled back before him.

Richie moved quicker than Eddie, grabbing hold of the barrel of the gun and shoving it upwards as a round went off in the air. Patrick reacted, tugging the shotgun back to his chest just as the lanky boy lunged forward, taking the psyco by the waist. They hit the ground hard, shaking the gun loose and sending it flying. Belch yelled something inaudible and Eddie moved to follow the weapon. 

But so did Belch.

The two hundred plus pound boy pounced onto Eddie’s back, forcing him into the dirt and knocking the air from his lungs. “Fucking Christ!” He wheezed, using all his strength to try and roll the boy off of his back. It was no use, he was like dead weight, his hot breath burned his ears, his slimy hands pinning his forearms into the ground. “Get off of me fat ass!” 

“Nuh huh. No way short stack” 

“Fine!” He yelled, shoving his elbow backwards as hard as he could manage and aiming roughly where he knew the rib cage would be. There was a crack, followed by a painful cry followed by relief. As soon as he was freed he crawled to the gun but found resistance around his left ankle. Looking backwards he saw a beefy hand holding him back, Belch’s painful expression staring into his soul. Thrashing his leg only caused the other boy’s grip to tighten. 

“You aren’t getting away that easily rabbit! I’m gonna gut you for that!” Belch growled, slowly pulling Eddie towards him. “Fucking piece of shit!” Eddie’s fingers were barely touching the weapon, grazing the metal. He was right there, right fucking there. Gritting his teeth he stretched the full 5 foot 6 inches he had across the mud in one final attempt at survival. “I’ll enjoy killing you, fucking cock sucking faggot. I’m gonna shove my dick so far up your ass that you’ll-”

Eddies hand finally gripped the barrel and he turned, mounting the gun in one swift motion. “Go to hell.” He sneered, his body reacting in self defense with his mind dragging behind, his finger pulling the heavy trigger. The explosion that followed was deafening, echoing inside of his head and through the air. With one blink the grip on his ankle was gone and there lay half a skull on top of a motionless body. Fighting the immediate urge to puke up his guts, Eddie moved to his feet his entire body shaking. There was still a struggle happening behind him so he swallowed the lump in his throat and turned. 

What he saw was Patrick with Richie pressed against him, a six inch fishing knife firmly placed against his neck. The grin on Patrick's face was unsettling, making Eddie’s skin crawl. “I told you I’d get to kill you.” He whispered into Richie’s ear, making the curly haired boy struggle under his hold. “I smell your fear and it smells delicious.” 

Eddie met Richie’s gaze and knew what was next. 

\---------------------

“How do you know where you are going? Are you from around here?” 

“No.” Bill replied firmly, his eyes scanning the ruffled leaves in front of him. “I’ve b-been tracking e-ever since I w-w-was ten.” The boy beside him waited, as if expecting more but Bill gave nothing else. He could hear Eddie’s paranoid speeches about strangers in the back of his head, keeping him aloof and on his toes. This Stan guy seemed nice enough, but so did Henry once. Typically he was a good judge of character, gaining Eddie’s trust their first day of class but there was still the unknown factor that the Apocalypse brought, creating monsters among men. Bill always saw himself as a mixture of both, his animal like side only coming out when absolutely necessary. 

And it was beyond necessary now. 

“What happens when we find these guys, what then?” 

“We k-kill them.” 

“What?” Stan gapped, staggering slightly. “Kill them?” 

Bill nodded, “Henry and his g-gang are muh-murders and rapists. If w-we don’t k-kill them, they will k-kill us.” It was a short and harsh answer, but the truth nonetheless. Stan’s opinion of him didn’t matter right now, all that mattered was that he found Eddie. He owed that short hothead his life a thousand times over, and Bill knew he wouldn’t last a day without his best friend. 

The only thing audible was the sound of their footsteps, trudging through the dirt and grime as they traced the steps of what Bill could only assume was either Belch or a baralling bull. Tracking had always came easy for him, but this seemed almost…..too easy. A thought shot through him, making his entire body tense. Subconsciously his arm shot up, pressing against Stan’s pounding chest, stopping him in his tracks. 

“What?” Stan whispered, his grip tightening on Bill’s gun. “What’s is it?” 

“Suh-something is w-wrong.” He replied softly, mounting his rifle and scanning the tree line. His ears were ringing, his finger tracing the trigger tenderly like a familiar lover. “I d-don’t like this, I-”

“BILL, LOOKOUT!” Stan shouted in his ear, suddenly shoving him to the side. 

Bill’s body hit the ground hard, his shoulder digging into the dirt with a painful jab as he tried to brace himself with what little mobility he had. He rolled onto his belly, his eyes shooting upward and watching in horror as Henry mounted Stan, his knees on either side of his hips, the blade in his hands now half buried into Stan’s shoulder, the cries of agony cutting through the night. The only thing that saved the lanky boy was his own grip on Henry’s arm, keeping the knife from digging any further into him.

Suddenly, it wasn’t Stan laying under Bowers, it was Eddie and Bill felt the same fear that had overcome him six months prior, the only this time he was armed. Something connected in his brain and he was on his feet, pulling the trigger of his gun and spattering the demented man’s brains all over the tree behind him. Breathing was hard, harder than necessary as he hurried over to a half screaming, half whimpering boy that now began to push the limp body off of him. Bill was yelling Eddie’s name over and over, not realizing what he was doing until Stan was looking up to him with wide, terrified eyes. 

“I’m not Eddie!” Stan yelled back, taking him by surprise and making everything crash down at once. “Just stay away from me!” Frantically he wiped the blood from his face, a mixture of tears and chuks trailing down his cheeks. He wasn't Eddie, Bill could see that now and he was astonished by his momentary lapse in judgment. “I can’t believe you killed him, I can’t believe-ah fuck that hurts!” Stan traced the blade’s handle, crying out in pain when he made contact. “Ow, oh god, oh god.” 

“I-I’m gonna h-have to pull that out s-s-so you can keep moving.” Bill managed, slinging the rifle and rising to his feet. As soon as he went to help Stan the boy jerked back. There was a ping in Bill’s chest, weather it guilt or sadness he couldn’t tell but he bit it down and added. “R-Richie is still out th-there. If H-Henry is here then the o-others aren't far be-behind.” Stan stared at him for a few moments before nodding, obviously understanding the danger that they-as well as their friends- were still in. 

It wasn’t the pull that made Bill want to scream, it was the cry of pain. Stan had kept most if in the palm of his hand but what seeped through his fingers was gut wrenching. Blood immediately pooled though his hoodie, and Bill moved his hand to apply pressure, remembering Eddie’s rule of thumb. “You’ll n-need to keep yuh-your hand here until I can h-h-gave E-Eddie patch you up. Keep the bleeding to a min-minum.”

“Okay.” Stan said, replacing Bill’s hand with his own. He was still covered in blood, mostly from Henry and it was a wonder how the birds hadn’t swooped down to pick off the brain shards from his curly hair yet. “Yeah, okay.” 

Snaking his arm around Stan’s waist he lifted, pulling them both to their feet. Ignoring the grunt of pain from the man beside him Bill stepped forward, only to be halted by Stan once again. “Wait,” He choked out pointing to Henry’s heaped body. “Lucy, grab Lucy.” 

“Lucy?” Bill repeated in confusion. 

“Richie’s good luck charm.” 

\----

Eddie could taste copper in his mouth, blood pooling around his gums as he bit down on his tongue harshly. Brown eyes stared back at him, full of fear and Eddie could only see himself. None of this was right, it should have been behind Patricks blade, not this innocent boy who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. A twelve gage shotgun loaded with birdshot wasn’t going to be accurate enough to bypass Richie, it could only go through him. But it wasn’t like Eddie knew this boy, all he had was a name and an immense of hatred for his clumsiness and crass mouth, he could do it. Easy. Except the churning in his stomach and the heavy lead in his heart kept him grounded to here and now. 

Eddie was many things, but he wasn’t this.

“Drop it or else I’ll spill his guts all over the floor.” 

Blinking the gun hit the ground without a second thought, and his hands raised to the sky. “Don’t be stupid Patrick, it’s me you want not him.” It was a plea to the psyco’s humanity, a long shot but a shot nonetheless. “Let him go and I’ll let you do whatever you want.” 

“Eddie no don’t-” Richie started but was cut off as the blade pressed closer to his jugular. 

Eddie jerked forward, “Don’t-” 

“What is it with you hero types and doing the right thing? You could have easily blown us both up with that shotgun and you could have walked free. You don’t even know this guy, goddamn rabbit why are you so sentimental to this loser?” 

Why was he? Eddie didn’t know but he was committed and he couldn’t be the reason for another innocents death. “Please, I’ll do anything.” 

Patricks eyes darkened, his smile curling around his sharp teeth. He opened his mouth to reply but stopped as a noise came from behind Eddie. “Don’t come any closer!” The psyco warned as Bill came into view, half carrying some curly haired boy. Eddie wanted to cry in happiness but couldn’t because Richie's quick intake brought him back. “The hero is here to save the day! Well you’re too late Denbrough, too bad!” 

Bill held up his palm, “J-Just calm d-d-down P-P-Patrick-” 

“Sh-sh-shut the fuck up.” Patrick mocked in a high pitched tone. “Put the gun down.” Bill obeyed as Eddie watched, his rifle nestling with the leaves along with a small dagger that he kept in his belt loop. Their eyes met, just for a second, and their minds spoke to one another with a mutual understanding. “Good, now lay down slowly.” Bill’s eyes flickered to Eddie one more time before moving back to the threat. “Do it! NOW!” 

Eddie reacted quickly, leaning forward and grabbing the blade before half turning and throwing the damn thing right at the two. The knife landed true-like it always does for Eddie-embedding itself right into the hand that held Richie hostage, making Patrick cry out in pain and drop his hold. Richie fell forward and that was all it took, that one second and Bill took the nine millimeter from behind Stan and shot a single bullet that found its home between Patricks eyes. 

He fell over dead. 

Stan cried out Richie’s name and the boy came running to where he was, taking his weight away from Bill. Their moment was lost because Eddie took two long strides over to his best friend and pulled him into a tight embrace, almost melting into him with relief. Bill hugged him back, laughing out “G-Good aim.” 

“Thanks.” He chuckled, patting his only friend on his back. “I see you picked up a straggler.” Eddie motioned to Stan as they let go of one another and Bill stuttered out a ‘look who's talking.’ Everything was right, they were together and that was what mattered. They could sleep tonight knowing that they were no longer being hunted, that they were safe. For a split second Eddie was happy. Happy and safe. 

Until. 

“E-Eddie, I ne-need you to patch S-stan up.” 

It was a simple request, and yet as he looked over to the two strangers who were fawning over the blood that was covering the blonde haired boy’s hand he felt a familiar sense of fear and rigidness take over him. It was misplaced, considering everything but if the Apocalypse taught him one thing it was this. 

You can't trust anyone.  
His voice wasn’t his own, but the response slipped between them harshly and with quiet a bite. 

“No.”


End file.
